


My eyes adored you

by Goldstein_1984



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Lennison - Freeform, M/M, Romantic Friendship, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:09:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28585512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldstein_1984/pseuds/Goldstein_1984
Summary: "George didn’t know how in the world they had ended up there.And still, George was pushed against the wall of an alley - how classical -, letting John explore his upper body with his hands."
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	My eyes adored you

**Author's Note:**

> Guess I'm not really good at writing smut... But I see this more as a fluffy one, so it doesn't really count! Hope you enjoy this short lennison fic :) 
> 
> Also, the title is from the eponym song by Frankie Valli.

George didn’t know how in the world they had ended up there. 

The previous evening, he had chatted with a very drunk John, himself a bit dizzied from the alcohol and the just done concert. John had called this nonsensical talk flirting - or maybe it was “teaching”, since his words were so slurred he was hard to understand -, Paul had called it intimidating, and George had thought it was just a casual talk with John Lennon. At that moment, George had happened to be so close to John that, the alcohol making him careless, he had just leaned and gave a quick peck on John’s cheek. Paul had laughed, a very loud and awkward laugh that resembled a bark, but John had frowned rather seriously.

“Don’t you dare kiss me like that again, you slut. I’m not your bloody wife.” 

Again, Paul had seemed to find that very amusing, but John’s words had been sharp and his eyes had darted murderously at George. 

…

And still, George was pushed against the wall of an alley - how  _ classical _ -, letting John explore his upper body with his hands. George had always believed, having paid it no further attention, that non-queer - or even queer, for that matter, he didn’t know much about them - make-out seances between two men always started by jerking off each other, but he was feeling way to good right now to think much about it.

He put his hands on John’s shoulders trying to steady his breath. For a long time now, he had wondered what was the feeling he sometimes experienced when being close to John. At first, he’d thought it was jealousy, and that had made him sad. Then, he’d believed it was a sentiment close to adoration, and that scared him and embarrassed him more than anything. As time had passed, he happened to be under the impression that what he felt for John was only true companionship, along with the irritation that being permanently around someone - especially John - could cause. George felt more at peace with himself now that he knew he wasn’t seeing John as being above him, but rather as an equal. It would’ve been unbearable otherwise. 

At the thought of his past self, young stubborn teenager idolizing his older friend, George found himself smiling and couldn’t help but to cup John’s cheeks. His heart melted just a little when John genuinely smiled back and grabbed his shoulders to pull him into a kiss. Or, as it seemed, into a tongue fight, as it was a bit too violent to be a real kiss. George couldn’t do anything but think about how  _ lucky _ he was that John had somehow chosen him, rather than Paul or any other man he couldn’t think of at that moment because all that his mind could see was  _ John _ . 

Said John suddenly licked George’s face, once, twice. And then his lips. And then his neck. 

“Oh sweet lord”, he let out, more as a whimper than what he had intended to. 

"Beginning to like it, aren’t we?” John teased, the most mischievous grin George had ever seen plastered on his face. 

“Bugger off, Lennon”, George groaned, and he closed his eyes. 

The mere sight of John’s face so close to his was rousing a wave of guilt, disgust, lust and adoration - seemed like it was still there, after all - altogether in his chest. Still, he regained enough self-control to say : 

“Thought you’d said you didn’t want me to kiss you on the cheek.”

“Oh, come on, this wasn’t a kiss, I  _ licked  _ you”, John snorted. “I’m not a bloody child, and you ain’t my mum. I don’t want your stupid quick pecks on my cheeks. Useless.”

George opened his eyes, even if he knew he shouldn’t. He found it quite ironic that John, of all people, would tell him, of all people, that he wasn’t a child. 

“But you’re sweet”, George giggled. 

He hadn’t been able to hold back this one. He liked teasing his friends. 

Although normally his teasing wouldn’t sound so damn loving, and he wouldn’t feel the need to  _ giggle.  _ That was Paul’s job. With girls. Not grown-up lads like John. 

“It’s freaking humiliating, Harrison.”

But John had a smirk, and he grasped George’s hair, pulling it lightly, sending the most delightful shiver down George’s spine. 

“Hard already?”

None of them glanced downwards the slightest - George, because he felt it grow in his pants and was embarrassed enough already, and John, because he closed his eyes and brushed it with his thigh. 

“I’m pretty sure I’m bigger than you”, George shrugged. 

This came out of nowhere, and George cursed himself under his breath. Apparently, he was going through another episode of being a teenager all over again. God, he sounded an awful lot like a twelve-years old. But John only snorted and responded with a smirk. 

“Pretty sure you’re not, son. But I’ll give you a chance and check it out for you.”

George was glad that John, although he’d opened his eyes, wasn’t looking up, because if the pink shade on his cheeks wasn’t the deepest blush he’d had in his life, he didn’t know how to play the guitar. 

“Mind if I…”

For some reason, John stopped and stared at George eagerly, receiving a quick nod. 

George groaned loudly at the touch of John’s fingers. 

“Fuck, Lennon!”

“What, has someone ever even touched you before?” John mocked him, bewildered, taking his hand off him. 

“‘S not that… You’re bloody cold!”

John blinked, squinted and quickly looked away, his fingers nervously tugging at George’s waistband under his coat. 

“But it’s fine. You can put it back if you like.”

John unzipped George’s trousers and, more carefully this time, placed a hand on George cock through his underwear. George glanced down, looking at John’s hand buried in his clothe, feeling his crotch gently. The sight of it, in addition to the feel, was turning him on like mad. 

He realized he wouldn’t have expected John to be this friendly. 

John’s hand slid further, caressing the tip through the fabric. He then looked at George. 

“You can…”, George whispered, moaning slightly. He briefly wondered why he was always the one to talk - he wasn’t used to breaking the silence. “You can… If you want… I mean…”

John got the message and grabbed his cock. 

He himself had one hell of a boner now, and he squirmed a little, instinctively searching for friction. 

“There you are…”, he murmured almost inaudibly. “There, love…” 

There was something very weird and very endearing for George to being called “love” by John Lennon. 

John began sliding his hand up and down, and soon he pressed his whole body against George’s, grinding their crotches together. George gasped. 

Maybe it was the risk, the fact that he hadn’t shagged anyone in weeks, the novelty of sensing another man or just the perfect scent of John’s skin in the crook of his neck where George’s nose was buried, but he felt he’d never been this aroused in all his life. 

They kept grinding for long minutes, and John grabbed George’s back to pull him closer to himself. Lord, was John heavy. And strong. 

And also quite handsome. 

“You’re so good, Johnny”, George muttered, voice hoarse, not even aware of his own words. He’d seem to speak a lot lately, and knew he should stop, but he couldn’t, not now. “You’re so fine. So sweet. So hot… Yeah… Keep on… You’re so fine. You’re beautiful, John.” 

The moment the last words escaped his mouth, John pulled away, leaving George breathless, puzzled and needy. 

“What did you say?”

George couldn’t answer. His head was spinning. 

“What the fucking hell did you mean by that!?”

John wasn’t shouting, but he certainly wasn’t calm either. George breathed shakily. 

“Don’t worry, I ain’t… I mean… Nothing queer behind it, pal. I’m just…” 

“You’re what?”

Although he absolutely didn’t know why and felt incredibly ashamed of it, George was practically on the verge of tears. 

“I’m just saying… You look nice. You’re funny. And smart. And when you smile, well… Makes me wanna smile too. Most of the time, ‘course. That’s why I said… you’re beautiful. ‘Cause you make me smile. In a good way. I’m not… mocking you, y’ know.” 

As John didn’t react, George added in fear : 

“It doesn’t go further than that, John.” 

John leaned forward, their noses touching. George had to keep his body from making his hips buck towards John’s. 

“Well, y’ should’ve been clearer, lad”, John chuckled, and George smiled in relief. “Bit of a mystery, you are.” 

George just shrugged. 

And as John’s lips crashed onto his, their crotches brushed again, and John’s hands found their way in George’s hair. 

“A cheesy little boy, you are, Georgie”, John teased him, mouth so close to his ear he could feel his breath spreading across his neck and cheeks. “Daft sod. But you’re beautiful too.” 

That almost sent George over the edge. 

Lord, for once, he didn’t mind being called a little boy. 

Not when John had just called him bloody  _ beautiful _ . 

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, though no one ever points out other people's mistakes (would seem a bit rude, wouldn't it...?), I'm still asking you to tell me if I made grammar/spelling mistakes! ;)


End file.
